On Nobody's Side
by Face of Poe
Summary: DH AU. After infiltrating the Ministry, Hermione is separated from Harry and Ron... and ends up at the mercy of Snape. What exactly are his intentions? Non-romantic pairing. DH spoilers. Rated for violence and insinuation.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Nothing recognizable in this ENTIRE story belongs to me except for the story itself. And as I'm not making any money from that, I guess it's not an issue.

**A/N: So this will be pretty short, probably 2 chapters… just a little fic-let that's been toying around with my mind for a while… so no cure like putting it down on pape…er, computer screen… :-) **

**Note that I've played around with the timeline of the story. This takes place in December, but the events in the book were a good bit earlier… I needed the whole trio, and I needed the winter holidays, and unfortunately, those two things don't coincide in Rowling's version. ;-P **

**Chapter 1**

"Ron, come on!"

They were dodging their way through the Ministry atrium, Harry turning and firing off jinxes every few seconds while Hermione hastily tried to shove the locket into her handbag. It would be more secure in Harry's moleskin pouch, but they didn't have time for that right now. What mattered was getting to a place where they could safely apparate back to Grimmauld Place- then they could worry about the particulars- namely, how to destroy the locket-turned-horcrux.

Ducking and weaving around the startled passerby, Hermione stumbled… but Ron caught her arm and hauled her after him until she managed to regain her footing.

She could see the doors that were their gateway to freedom. All they needed to do was get beyond the anti-apparition line and they'd be home free. Hermione eyed the glass façade of the building, grimaced, and knew what she had to do.

"Harry," she panted, "shield charm."

"Wha-?" he asked while simultaneously firing off a stunning spell over his shoulder.

"Now!" she cried, pointing her wand at the glass. "Reducto!" she screamed.

Time seemed to slow and silence fell over the atrium as people watched with bated breath, casting their own charms so as to not be completely cut to pieces by the falling shards.

The distraction was enough though; all three protected by Harry, they ran together through the doors… and found themselves dumped out of a telephone booth in muggle London, sprawling in a heap on the ground. Panting, but not wasting a moment, Hermione pulled herself onto her knees and wearily got to her feet, taking Harry by the arm and fixing his glasses as he got to his feet. Ron stood too, and she grabbed each under the arm and prepared to apparate, checking first to ensure that her bag was tucked safely away in her pocket.

The extra second it took proved very ill indeed.

As the three turned, a hand lurched from the booth and seized the back of Harry's robes. He turned in alarmed shock, shouting, "Hermione!" but it was too late- she'd completed the apparition, and they found themselves at number 12 Grimmauld Place- with Fenrir Greyback in tow.

Harry reacted fastest, having already been alerted by the hand grasping him. For his part, Greyback seemed momentarily stunned that he had actually succeeded in reaching them in time. With a fast stunning spell, Harry sent Greyback reeling backwards off the stoop- but the distracted nature of Harry's spell combined with the werewolf in Greyback stopped him from completely losing consciousness… Harry just didn't put enough force behind it.

Something else was wrong, Hermione realized. Greyback could still see them- which meant that bringing him through to Grimmauld Place had successfully allowed him access. He seemed to realize it just as she did, and Hermione had to think fast.

Reaching for her pouch, she thrust it into Ron's hands as Harry and Greyback exchanged spells. "Take this," she whispered, slipping her own wand into a pocket. "You have to go, anywhere but here. Take Harry."

"Wha- Hermione?" he asked in panic.

"Go!" she insisted, bounding forward off the steps. It was the element of surprise that prevented Greyback from killing her then and there, she suspected, because he just stared stupidly as she attached herself to his wandless arm.

Harry realized a split second beforehand what she was going to do. "No, Hermione!" he shouted. But she was gone in a swirl of robes, gripping the angry werewolf desperately. He turned to Ron, wild in his panic, and saw him just staring stupidly at the bag in his hand.

"She- we have to go, mate," Ron said quietly.

"What do you mean?" Harry demanded. "Greyback will kill her, we have to find them before she gets hurt!"

"We don't know where they went," Ron said sadly, expression indicating his desire to go after them too. "And Hermione gave me her bag," he added quietly. "Harry, we have to keep the locket away from the Death Eaters."

Harry looked horribly torn for a few seconds, and Ron's heart ached to think of his friend- his girlfriend- who had just sacrificed herself, and possibly her life, so that they could get away. He forced himself to take Harry's arm though, and they apparated swiftly away, appearing in a heavily forested area, thankfully alone. There was a light dusting of snow on the ground, and the wind whipped around and stung their faces.

"Why didn't you stop her?" Harry asked, voice full of grief.

"I- I didn't realize what she meant to do," Ron said, tears forming in his eyes. He wiped them away angrily. "Look, she's smart, mate. She can get out of anything."

"Even if she does," Harry muttered resignedly, "how will we ever find each other again?"

Ron looked stricken, realizing the truth of the matter. They were separated, and it would take a near-miracle for them to be reunited, short of all three being captured and thrown in the same cell in some dank prison.

Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.

Greyback had the advantages of height and weight. It wasn't hard for him to take the momentum of the apparition and push her to the ground, effectively trapping her and pinning her flat to the ground. The force of the landing, however, pushed him down on top of her, and she bit back a scream as a knee connected with her ribs on her left side, and hard.

There was little Hermione could do. Greyback oriented himself too quickly for her to have time to free her wand. He pressed her arms to the ground and leered down at her. The ground was soft and muddy from recent rains.

"The mudblood, eh?" he growled. "Not bad, even if I didn't get Potter too… someone has been waiting to see you, missy. Wouldn't mind seeing a little more of you, myself…" he licked his lips and bared his teeth, and Hermione shrank away as best she could, shivering on the ground.

Greyback's hand reached into her robes and Hermione's fighting instincts kicked in. She thrashed about, and soon thereafter, his hand connected with the side of her face. It stung her already cold cheek, and in the end, he had succeeded in locating and removing her wand. He grinned and turned, standing up. It seemed that he trusted that she was stunned enough to not get up in his moment of distraction. He was wrong.

Watching him raise his wand high into the air, Hermione did the only conceivable thing, knowing that she would have precious seconds after the dark mark lit the sky until whoever he was summoning arrived. She just hoped desperately that it wasn't Bellatrix Lestrange.

Leaping off the ground, she nearly fell right back down from the pain in her left side- but she maintained her footing, and launched herself at Greyback's back, gripping his wand arm and trying to wrench the instrument from his grasp. Several things then happened in quick succession.

The dark mark shot high into the air; Greyback whipped around and successfully dislodged Hermione from his back, and also successfully keeping his grip on his wand; Hermione flew a few feet backwards and stumbled, looking fearfully up at the werewolf who now not only had both of their wands, but was irate. She turned as though to shield herself, but knowing it would do little good as a silent curse flew and smashed into her right shoulder and back, spinning her and throwing her to the ground.

She lay gasping, left hand darting up to feel the damage, heart nearly stopping as she felt the free-flowing blood now spreading and soaking her robes. She grew light-headed, and wasn't sure if it was from the blood loss or wooziness at the sheer amount of blood she felt covering her. Her attention returned to her surroundings however, with the POP of apparition. She froze and eyed the masked figure newly appeared in their midst, terrified. Hermione knew that she had lost. Torture and death seemed her most likely path from here- if she didn't bleed out from Greyback's curse, of course.

"Well, well," a quiet voice, barely audible to the weakening Hermione. "Wherever did you find it, Greyback?"

"They were at the Ministry," the werewolf replied excitedly. "All three."

"So I heard," the newcomer mused. "Then where are Potter and Weasley?"

"Well," he replied uncomfortably, "the girl grabbed me and apparated here to give them time to get away. But we can use her to find them!" he insisted.

"Indeed we can," the man murmured. Not Bellatrix Lestrange, Hermione mused, the sole consolation in all of this. "Who else knows of this?"

"Oh, no one," Greyback hurriedly said. "Well, besides Potter and Weasley. I did exactly as you told me, and came to you first."

There were a few seconds silence. "This was well done," the masked man said quietly, approaching Hermione's prone form, chest heaving, eyes resigned. "Very well done indeed." A long finger reached out and ran across the wound on her right side. "There is only one problem."

"Yes?" Greyback bit impatiently.

"_Avada Kedavra_."

Everything went black.

Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.

She was staring at a wall in a dimly lit room. Not the most descriptive in terms of determining her true location, she tried to roll over off of her left side- which was throbbing dully- and froze as a cool hand pressed itself into her upper back, preventing her from turning.

"Don't move," a low voice said evenly. A voice that Hermione tried to place, but it sounded purposely masked. "I need to finish seeing to your injuries before you hurt yourself further."

Too frightened to really respond, Hermione's brain went into overdrive. She was in a bed, being healed. That was better than being tortured, she supposed, but it was more confusing. Why heal her to turn around and torture and kill her, as was undoubtedly the plan?

She shifted uncomfortably and came to an unpleasant realization- she wasn't wearing anything at all. But she was covered by a sheet except for her wounded shoulder. She stiffened as she contemplated this, and the fingers lightly tracing the deepest cut spanning her lower neck and upper back too came to a halt.

"You may ask your question."

Feeling more and more discomfited by the second, Hermione figured it wasn't worth being belligerent; she was clearly not in control in this situation.

"Where are my clothes?" she said quietly, trying to keep her voice steady.

He resumed his first aid, now spreading a warm potion across her wounded skin. "They were muddy, bloody, and torn," he replied lightly, "it hardly seemed practical not to dispose of them." A brief pause. "You will be given something to wear, this should not concern you."

She shivered, but wasn't sure if it was from cold or something else. "And who are you?" she asked slowly, hesitantly, as though afraid of retaliation at the question.

A low chuckle in the man's throat. He was otherwise silent for several more seconds as he finished his ministrations. "I am surprised," he murmured as he replaced the sheet over her right back and shoulder. "Is your memory so short… Miss Granger?" He firmly but carefully tilted her right side back onto the bed so she could lie face up… and look at his face as he sat back and watched her contemplatively.

There were several seconds' silence as Hermione remained frozen in shock, staring at the man who simply sat and gauged her reaction.

"Snape?" she finally whispered incredulously, unconsciously holding the sheet tighter to her body as she made to sit up. He leaned forward with a flash of annoyance and pushed her back.

"That shoulder needs to stay prone for five minutes," he told her, "or else you'll undo the last hour of work."

"Hour…" she murmured. "How long have I been unconscious? And where's Greyback? And where am I, for that matter? And how-," a hand cut off her flow of questions.

"You at least have not changed," he bit dryly. "You have been unconscious for only an hour and a half. Your blood loss was substantial, but a replenishing potion is already at work, and you will drink another before you get up." It was a statement, not a request. "You are in a house in which you need fear no further harm to your person."

Hermione stared at Dumbledore's murderer uncomprehendingly. "And Greyback?"

Silence. "Is not of your further concern," he finally managed. "Nor you of his."

"But I don't…" she stopped suddenly, realizing and remembering what had happened in those final seconds before she'd lost consciousness. "You killed him," she whispered, eyes wide.

Snape took a deep breath. "Well?" he snapped. "You'd have preferred if I left him to enjoy you to the fullest of his imaginings?"

"I- no!" she cried indignantly. "But… why? What do you want with me, and why did he have to die for you to get it? Isn't he on your side and all?"

There was a flash across Snape's face so brief that Hermione was almost sure she'd imagined it.

"I have no side," he murmured. "Not anymore. I work towards my own ends, Miss Granger. And Greyback was an impediment to those ends."

"And what ends would those be?" Hermione asked bitterly. "Finding Harry?"

"Of course," he almost sounded surprised that she'd even ask. "But you see, had I left Greyback alive, the Dark Lord would have discovered my means, and I couldn't have that."

"Your means?" she demanded. "You mean me? You honestly think I'll tell you where Harry is?"

He chuckled lowly again. "Of course not, Miss Granger. How can you tell me what you don't know?" She stared dully at him. "Don't look so surprised. He and Weasley are not at headquarters, that was my first order of business when it was clear that you were not about to die. They cannot return to any place already familiar to all three of you, I'm confident that those are all being monitored by the Dark Lord, and if they had too been captured, I'd know by now. I have little reason to suspect that you have any idea at all where they are- why else would you have ensured that your little bag full of tricks made it into their hands? You didn't know if you'd be able to rejoin them if you did by some miracle survive Greyback. And luckily for you, Greyback had standing orders to alert me first if any of the three of you had been captured."

She was silent for a long while, processing all that he had said. He obviously had been keeping tabs on Grimmauld Place to some degree… but what bothered her was the comment about her 'little bag full of tricks' that she had passed off to Ron. How could he possibly know that?

"I don't understand," she finally said.

"You will," Snape murmured lowly. His demeanor then changed suddenly and became much more business-like. "But while time is pressing, there is time for you to clean and dress yourself first. The lavatory is through that door," he gestured across the room, "and a set of clean robes is waiting in the dresser. When you are presentable, I will be down the hall, at the end on the right." He pulled a flask from the bedside table. "Drink this," he ordered. She eyed it warily, and he rolled his eyes. "You truly think that I'd go through the trouble of an hour of tedious healing only to poison you once you were awake?"

Hermione fought the urge to retort and downed the potion in one gulp, knowing full well that Snape could do whatever he pleased whenever he pleased, and if he planned to poison her now, there was nothing she could do to prevent it.

She waited while the potion worked its way through her system, and Snape watched her with a wry expression. After several seconds, she relaxed, knowing that she'd live for at least a few more minutes. "All the way down the hallway, Miss Granger," Snape reiterated as he stood smoothly and made his way to the doorway. He pulled the door closed behind him and flicked his wand; the lights in the room came on more strongly.

When Hermione finished staring open-mouthed at the closed door through which Snape had just disappeared, she took in her surroundings more fully than she had been able before. It was a plain room, the only furniture the bed, one lone dresser, a desk, and the chair in which Snape had been sitting. The only piece of décor- and it seemed out of place indeed- was an ornate silver frame on the wall opposite Hermione's bed. But it was empty, and Hermione couldn't tell if that was because there was no picture or it the inhabitants had merely wandered away.

She stood up slowly, careful not to strain her injured right shoulder. Her movements were also stiff due to the lingering pain on her left side where Greyback had fallen on her after apparating. Based upon the memory of the intense pain when it had initially happened, Hermione suspected that she was under the influence of a pain relieving potion as well- or perhaps Snape had done something while she was unconscious.

Hermione took her time exploring the bedroom and bathroom. If anything would be useful for her in terms of defense or escape, she didn't want to miss it; but as she suspected, nothing caught her eye, and she resigned herself to washing up and dressing as Snape had told her to. It was with great care that she washed the area around her left ribs- she could tell a bruise was forming over a wide area. As she grabbed and examined the robes, she also noted what seemed to be pajamas in the drawer, and raised a quizzical brow.

She exited the room, wishing more than she even had before that she had a wand. She felt completely vulnerable, whatever Snape said about no harm befalling her while in this house. And speaking of 'this house…'

Walking slowly down the hall, Hermione committed as much information as possible in a short time to memory. Her room was at the end, and on the wall to her left was an empty picture frame, something she found very curious indeed. To the right were a few rooms, more bedrooms or closets, she suspected. And all the way at the end, the hallway seemed to open into a larger space, and it was there which she assumed Snape was awaiting her.

The initial impression she received was that it was a nice and comfortable house which had been somewhat neglected for some time. Things were generally clean, but there was an unoccupied feel to everything, and few decorations. And those which were present generally came in the form of empty picture frames… but as Hermione looked closely, she realized that several did in fact have paintings in them… but only the backgrounds, which ranged in elaborateness, remained.

"Come along, Miss Granger," Snape called softly. "We don't have all day."

Startled from her musings, Hermione slowly approached the end of the hallway, steeled herself, and turned the corner… and was surprised to find herself in a small sitting room. Snape was seated in a chair on one side of the coffee table, and he gestured for her to take the sofa on the opposing side. She sat hesitantly, and jumped when a cup and saucer appeared in front of her, following soon thereafter by a plate of small sandwiches. Snape just sat back, apparently amused, and watched her take a cautious sip of tea.

Hermione sat silently, waiting for Snape to make the first move. He watched her, sizing her up.

"You should eat something," he directed, eyes flickering across her face. "Your injuries were taxing, and soon enough it will be time for you to sleep; you cannot go so long without nourishment."

She acquiesced to this rather quickly, hoping that if she would do as he said for now, she would get some answers sooner rather than later. Seemingly satisfied when she had finished one sandwich, he surveyed her over his tall, steepled fingers, and began to speak.

"To what degree of certainty do you believe that Potter and Weasley are safe?"

"I… for now, I am sure that they are," she responded slowly, suspiciously. "But if left to their own devices long enough, they will do something stupid trying… looking for me," she finished lamely.

Snape made a noise that might have been a laugh. "I thought as much," his mouth curled into a wry grimace. "We shall have to work quickly then." She shot him a confused look. "To find them, of course," he stated as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"I will not help you to do that," Hermione said quietly. "Though I suppose you'll try everything in your power to make me cooperate."

His eyes shifted. "You misunderstand me," he said lowly. "I do not want you to help me locate Potter and Weasley; I want to help _you_ locate them."

She stared uncomprehending. "You kidnapped me," she stated bluntly.

"Wrong," his eyes flashed. "Greyback attacked you, you were injured, I saved your life." He took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Miss Granger, I will not hold you captive. The Dark Lord will never know that you were even here. I shall insist that you stay the night- your shoulder needs to be looked at tonight and again tomorrow, it was a powerful dark curse… but after that, the choice is yours."

He held her wand aloft, and she eyed it longingly.

"This is what I offer you tomorrow," he told her. "You may have your wand and your freedom, if you agree to one thing in return: to deliver something to Potter for me. Your other choice is to take your wand, but remain here for the duration of the winter holidays, before I am called back to Hogwarts. You will be safe, protected, and fed and together we will strive to locate your lost companions. You have little to lose in that scenario."

"And if I leave tomorrow…?"

"Then I suspect I'll be seeing you again soon, most likely in a dungeon of Malfoy Manor," he replied bluntly. "But as I said, I shall not stop you."

She hesitated. "And the thing you wish me to deliver…?"

He stood abruptly and reached for a frame on the wall. He lifted it and it swung open, revealing a deep narrow space into which he reached. She watched with bated breath as he withdrew his hand… and it was grasping the sword of Godric Gryffindor. She stifled a gasp, and stiffened in her seat- how did he know?

"But- Scrimgeour said…"

"Scrimgeour was a fool who's only redeeming quality was his silence through torture which ultimately killed him," Snape snapped, and Hermione flinched. "The sword was not Dumbledore's to give away, but it is Potter's to take, as the prophesied foe of the heir of Slytherin."

"You said you're on nobody's side," Hermione whispered. "What is it that you want?"

"The Dark Lord's destruction, of course."

"Why should I trust you?"

He paused, regarding her with an unreadable expression. "What choice do you think you have, Miss Granger?"

"If you will truly allow me to leave here tomorrow with the sword and my wand…"

"Then you will be alone, friendless, and in grave danger while you attempt to locate your friends."

She considered that. "And if I stay," she asked cautiously, "what happens when you suddenly deem that delivering me to You-Know-Who, or killing me, is the better way to achieve your goal?"

"You aren't listening to me," he said, "My purpose is not to find Potter- it is to ensure that you and the sword reach him before he gets himself captured in the hope that it will lead him to you. Locating him is merely an aspect of that goal."

"Why?" She braced herself for the rebuke at the general question, but he seemed to recognize the larger scope of what she meant- why had he killed Dumbledore, why was he now claiming to be against Voldemort…?

"My reasons are my own," he bit shortly.

"Yet you expect me to blindly follow you," she mused, but not accusingly. "Then I will take the liberty of the night to think it over and shall inform you of my decision in the morning."

"Fine."

They stared at one another for a long moment, her expression one of distrust, his a shrewd assessment.

"If there is nothing you require," he finally spoke, "you may retire to the same room; in another hour, however, I will be returning to check on the progress of your shoulder and back."

She stood abruptly, grimacing slightly at the pain in her left side. "If you must." And she was gone.

Hermione slipped quickly back down the hall and shut the door to her room quietly, leaning back against it and closing her eyes, trying to still her pounding heart. None of any of this made any sense. It was undeniable that Snape was a Death Eater and that he had murdered Dumbledore. And yet…

Her instincts told her that she was not in any immediate danger, and that was what scared her more than anything else. She'd never seen the man be nice, let alone as cordial as he was being to her, and this made her wonder if she was being lulled into a false sense of security. He claimed that he desired Voldemort's death, and was supposedly going to help her relocate Harry and Ron, but if he wanted to say, find Harry to turn him over to Voldemort, wouldn't he tell her anything to get her to cooperate? Would he kill Greyback if he thought that would convince her?

She reflected on this for some time, her mind racing in circles in an attempt to understand what was going on. Finally though, with a groan of frustration, she decided to get ready for bed. If she believed nothing else he said, she was confident that in no way would she be leaving this house tonight, especially without a wand.

She was sitting at the desk with her head in her hands when a sharp tap on the door preceded Snape's entry. Turning in the chair to look at him, they stared at one another for several seconds before she turned back abruptly.

"I don't trust you, you know."

"I'd think you a fool if you did."

And that was it; all that was spoken between the two as she undid the top few buttons of her pajama top and slid if off of her right shoulder, baring the scarred flesh. He lightly traced the line of the wound before once more spreading some cool, thick potion over it, finally slipping the sleeve of her shirt back to its proper position. All told, this took about thirty seconds.

"I'll be awaiting your response in the morning."

When she turned, he was already gone.

Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.

**A/N: So like I said, I moved the timeline as such that they were infiltrating the Ministry shortly before Christmas. I think that's the only BIG difference (I mean, besides the obvious AU-ness of the story). **

**I think the rest of the story will be up by the end of the weekend. Depending on my schoolwork procrastination, that is. :P **

**In other exciting news, President Obama is coming to campus tomorrow to talk about health care reform… like him or not, you gotta love the chance to see the president speak. :-D **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks for the views and reviews, and fav story adds ;-) A big thanks to my returning faithful readers who got through Changes in Heart and What Once Was with me. (Xedra, PhantomRose and Keira House-M.D., this means you!) **

**Chapter 2**

She sat up suddenly and with a gasp. Had she dreamt it?

Peering around the near-pitch dark room, Hermione sought any source of the rustling noise- a shuffle or a whisper?- that had pulled her out of sleep. "Snape?" she whispered. Nothing. She hesitated, unsure what to do. Chances were that it was nothing. However, experience had taught not to ignore even the faintest suspicions…and while a faint shuffling noise she might have dreamt hardly seemed reason enough to get worked, there was always the possibility of say, Wormtail in rat form…

Mind made up, Hermione slid quietly off the bed and reached for the dimly glowing lantern on the desk, turning it up enough to survey the room comfortably.

The door was still closed, and she hadn't heard any noise suggesting it had been opened or shut. As she glanced around the room, she looked for anything that struck her as out of place and, seeing nothing, she considered chalking it all up to a dream once and for all and trying to go back to sleep. As she turned, however, she realized that something _was_ different in the room; not out of place, per say, but it definitely hadn't been there before she had gone to bed…

The frame on the wall was now occupied, though the resident, a young girl with long blonde hair, was sleeping. Hermione peered at the portrait with interest, though there was no indication as to the identity of the sleeping girl, who looked to be around ten. She was dressed in a formidable looking high-necked dress in a deep blue, and as Hermione watched, she would periodically pull at the collar of the dress unconsciously, giving her the appearance of being rather discomfited by this style.

While she was desperately curious to find out more about the identity of this young girl, she didn't want to wake her. Being Hermione, however, the curiosity soon got the better of her, and she decided to further investigate the portraiture of the house to see if the other occupants had returned. If nothing else, she might be able to at least find out where she was. She drew on the provided outer cloak against the chilly air, slipped on her shoes, and approached the bedroom door.

She peered warily outside the door of the bedroom, half expecting Snape to be standing guard to ensure that she did not go anywhere that night. Nothing happened though, and so she took a tentative step into the hallway and glanced down… and was disappointed to see that there was no change to the frames in the hallway- still empty. With a sigh of resignation, she went to go back into the room, when another rustling noise and an accompanying movement caught her eye.

Turning sharply, she walked quickly and silently towards the far end of the hallway where, she realized as she got closer, the occupants of all of the paintings had collected. She opened her mouth to address them but quickly abandoned that plan when she heard low voices from the direction of the sitting room where she had spoken with Snape earlier that night.

The portrait subjects paid her no heed, seemingly caught up in whatever gossip existed among two-dimensional personalities. Hermione paid them equal inattention, straining her ears to try to catch what was being said.

She crept carefully along the wall, wishing now more than ever that she possessed a wand. Needing to know who else was in the house however, she braced herself and looked slowly around the corner into the sitting room- and it was empty. She could hear the voices better though, and ascertained that they were originating in the room beyond a sitting room, which looked like it might be a dining room at an initial glance.

"…don't know if I have her convinced."

"Severus, you must not fail in this! Do whatever is in your power…"

"If I force her to stay, she'll never trust me! If she doesn't trust me, your plans for Potter will be wasted."

Hermione gasped lightly. She had been right all along; he was trying to gain her trust so that she would take him to Harry and once she did… well, she shuddered to think what their 'plans' were.

A rustle of movement could be heard from the room, and she sank out of the doorway back to the hallway. New low voices could be heard, but she strained to make them out. She heard nothing until the second voice spoke again.

"Severus- apparently she's listening in the hall," the voice was mild, but Hermione's blood ran cold. She heard whispers and turned- figures were fluttering back into the portrait, including the young blonde girl who had been sleeping in the frame in her room. Realizing her stupidity, and that the paintings must have given her away, Hermione quickly analyzed her options and did the only thing that made sense- she ran.

Returning to her room was not an option. Short of obliviating her, Snape now had no alternative but to try to coerce her into cooperation. And she _definitely_ didn't want either.

She dashed through the sitting room and heard heavy footsteps in response to her attempted flee. Heading away from the door through which the voices had been coming, she dashed through the opposite doorway into an entrance hall. She could hear Snape, presumably, following close behind with an exasperated shout of "Granger!"

Reaching the door, it snapped unlocked for her, the first accidental magic she had accomplished in some years. Not complaining, she wrenched it open and flew outside, desperately hoping that when she got beyond the property of the house, she would be able to apparate freely.

She felt the low tingle of magic as she passed the barrier and prepared to apparate, figuring her best chance was a remote summer camping ground she had visited with her parents when she was nine; if nothing else, it should give her a few moments to recover herself and decide what to do.

As she began the turn, however, a spell flew past her left ear, and she stopped and ducked to the right, confused; it had come from in _front_ of her, not behind. Someone else was out here. Looking up, she saw a heavily cloaked and hooded figure approaching, wand trained on her, and she narrowly stepped aside another curse. The figure tilted its head and she saw a full view of a Death Eater mask- before an invisible force was yanking her backwards.

She felt herself pass back through the magical barrier and crash into Snape who grabbed her, pulled her backwards, slamming the door with a wave of his wand before losing his balance and falling backwards, her landing ungracefully on her back next to him.

Attempting to sit up, she winced in pain and inhaled sharply- whatever pain potion she had been under seemed to have worn off. Snape, however, jumped into action before she could complete the task and rolled over and pushed her back to the floor. He looked closely into her eyes for a few seconds while she lay panting on the ground, and then, leaning over her, tore open her heavy outer cloak and began unbuttoning the lower buttons of her pajama top.

She shrieked and struggled, but he easily captured her flailing fists in one hand while the other moved up her side of her now exposed abdomen. She heard another voice in a sharp reprimand, "Severus!" but before she could look to see who it was, a blinding pain made her freeze, and tears welled in her eyes.

Snape was feeling across the area which was now, Hermione noticed in alarm, very heavily bruised. He lightly pressed against another spot which made Hermione tense up in pain, and his eyes darted to her face.

"You foolish girl," he muttered. "Why did you not mention this when I was seeing to your other, more obvious injuries?" She sensed it was a more-or-less rhetorical question, and remained silent. "This will hurt," he warned as he pressed his wand tip against her ribs and muttered a spell under his breath.

There was a brief but intense pain; Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her jaw, but after a few seconds, the pain lessened and was actually much improved. She tentatively accepted the offered hand and stood gingerly. Staring at Snape, unsure of the repercussions of her attempted escape, Hermione was quiet but confused. The room was empty, but she had distinctly heard someone call Snape's name.

"You cracked two ribs," he informed her stiffly. "I will give you a salve for the bruising and a potion for pain when you return to bed." He looked at her expectantly as though assuming she would go do just that.

"That's it?" she asked incredulously. "Don't I at least have a right to some answers?"

He scowled. "After the stunt you just pulled?"

"I know someone else is here, I heard you scheming with them! Yet at the same time, this house is under the _Fidelius_ charm and being watched by Death Eaters? What are you playing at and what is it exactly that you want from me?- because I _won't _willingly lead you to Harry so that you can deliver him to You-Know-Who!"

Snape stared at her resignedly for several seconds. Then, he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her from the entryway, back through to the dining room, and deposited her on a chair where he had been sitting earlier.

She sat staring straight ahead, unsure what was happening. Snape paced behind the chair for a moment before saying, "Well, go on then!" in exasperation.

Hermione was confused. "I don't…"

"Miss Granger."

She froze. She knew that voice.

Slowly, hesitantly, terrified to be wrong, she raised her eyes to the portrait hanging on the opposite wall, above the mantel. Letting out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, she stood abruptly, eyes never leaving the painting.

"My dear."

"Professor Dumbledore," she whispered, advancing on the mantel. Even in two-dimensional form, his eyes twinkled and he looked just as vital as he did all the time she had known him. There was a somberness to his gaze now, but he smiled broadly at her. Unable to really specify why, her eyes welled up. "I don't understand," she whispered, turning to glance at Snape, who was watching her with an unreadable expression.

"Oh, my dear," Dumbledore said sadly, "I'd be surprised if you did. And I truly must apologize; much of this confusion is my fault. But I think that, if you allow myself and Severus to explain everything to you, you might begin to comprehend our actions, and why they were necessary."

"Why have you not said something before now?" Hermione asked slowly, suspiciously, glancing from the portrait to the stoic man in the shadows on the other side of the room.

Dumbledore smiled lightly. "I'm afraid that is my fault as well. When Severus arrived with you, unconscious and bleeding in his arms, I made a few quick decisions while he healed you. It seemed to me that Severus should attempt to gain your trust the hard way, lest you suspect a trick- as I believe you are now considering," he added shrewdly, and she blushed. "I fear though, that decision made in haste has merely led to more fear and mistrust on your part, and for that, I am sorry."

Shaking her head in confusion, Hermione struggled for words. "But… why is your portrait here? Where is here? Why… why _him_?" she demanded, tears flowing freely now.

"You are shrewd, Miss Granger; can you see no possible reason for Severus's actions?"

She looked at the portrait incredulously. "Do you not think I've tried to do just that for the past six months? We've talked and talked about it, and the only explanation that even remotely makes sense is the Unbreakable Vow which Harry heard about, but…"

"But?" Dumbledore's voice was kind. Snape had retreated further into the shadowed side of the room.

"But my experiences through six years at Hogwarts give me little reason to believe that Professor Snape would have chosen his life over yours, vow or no," Hermione whispered, "unless he ultimately was serving You-Know-Who."

Snape jerked his head up to look at her, but when Hermione turned to meet his gaze, he turned away again with a deep scowl. He stalked out of the room, but only as far as the sitting room, based upon the sound of his footsteps.

"And he would have," Dumbledore murmured sadly. "Had I not forced him into another decision."

"What do you mean," Hermione asked breathlessly.

Dumbledore held up his hands. "Curios thing, magical portraits," he said. "A representation of oneself in the latter years, and yet… not entirely accurate to the moment of death. Do you notice the discrepancy?"

"Your hand," she realized. "But I still don't…" her eyes widened. "You were cursed. You were dying."

"Quite right," he sounded rather cheerful, given the circumstances and the discussion. "And can you not fathom the benefits to be reaped from simply having Severus kill me quickly and painlessly- but at Voldemort's orders- against my waiting another year to die slowly and quite unpleasantly?"

Thinking hard, Hermione returned to the nearest chair and sat heavily. "His loyalty would never again be questioned," she said slowly. "He would have access to whatever he needed- the authority to ensure that, if any of us were captured, he would know first," she stiffened with the realization that this just might be possible and what had occurred just a handful of hours ago.

"And," Dumbledore said quietly, "enough sway with Voldemort to be assigned headmaster, where he could temper the cruelties of those appointed under him to the best of his abilities. Most importantly though…"

"Access to the sword of Godric Gryffindor."

"And the salvation of young Draco Malfoy's soul until he is truly able to decide upon his own path."

There was still something bothering her. "But why keep it a secret from the Order? From Harry?" she asked.

"Voldemort's trust in Severus only extends as far as he can be certain of his loyalties; a half-dozen Death Eaters seeing Harry chase him down, vowing vengeance- well, if not what I anticipated or wanted per say, it is convincing. Severus must constantly appear loyal to Voldemort; the obvious despise of Minerva, while unfortunate, is essential as long as the Carrows roam the halls of Hogwarts."

"And George Weasley?" Hermione asked bitterly.

"That was an accident," a smooth, low voice spoke from behind her, and Hermione turned, startled. She hadn't heard Snape come back in the room. "The Death Eater in front of me was moments away from killing Lupin; my hastily aimed curse missed," a shadow passed over his face, possibly at the memory of what had happened to George. "Fortunately, so did my _colleague_," he spat the word.

"And… you've been using Phineas Nigellus Black's portrait to keep tabs on us?" she asked hesitantly.

"Well," Dumbledore chuckled, "when possible. He didn't take too kindly to being shoved into a bag full of books; apparently they keep smacking his portrait. But when he catches a bit of conversation, he does let us know that you're all alright, though he's only been able to surmise based upon brief glimpses that you've maintained your residence in Grimmauld Place until today."

"And now," the oily voice of Phineas Nigellus Black cut in, as he slid into Dumbledore's frame, "the two boys seem to be camping; they've taken the tent and related equipment from the bag, it's much roomier now."

"Oh, thank Merlin," Hermione breathed. She had hoped that they would go somewhere secluded to regroup, and this seemed to point in that direction. "So," she glanced at Snape, "what happens now?"

"We need to return you to your friends and get the sword to Harry," Dumbledore said firmly.

Snape interjected calmly. "There are a few… possibilities," he murmured. "First is wait and listen; see if Phineas hears anything that could indicate a location, or if there are rumors of Potter being spotted," Hermione winced. "Second, take a more proactive approach; check any locations to which you could conceive a possibility of Potter and Weasley going. Or… and this could be the easiest means to reach them, but the hardest to convince them- use Phineas to talk to them and convince them to arrange a place and time to meet you."

She grimaced. "They'd suspect a trap instantly. Especially because they'd expect it was coming from you, they know his other portrait hangs in the headmaster's office." She paused, confused. "But we are not at Hogwarts," she said slowly.

"Of course not, you silly girl," Snape snapped, and Dumbledore shook his head at his tone. "I brought the portrait with me."

Hermione looked at Dumbledore's portrait carefully. "But yours belongs here," she surmised. "This was your house." Her eyes widened. "We're in Godric's Hollow."

"Keen as always," Dumbledore inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Though I must confess, I spent very little time here after I left for Hogwarts at the age of eleven."

Thinking carefully, Hermione stared blankly at the wall for several long moments. Then, with an air of finality about her, she stood and looked at Snape. "Harry and Ron will come here."

He looked at her skeptically. "You're so sure. How?"

"They will not last long feeling as though they are doing nothing. While it may not be productive in the sense of getting rid of You-Know-Who, Harry has wanted to visit Godric's Hollow for some time, but I've always dissuaded him; it seemed too risky. But now…"

"Without your tempering presence, they will blindly follow their hearts' desires?" Snape scowled.

"They won't know what else _to_ do," Hermione corrected softly. "We can still have Phineas keep an eye and an ear out for any news; but I think we should start preparing for them to show up in the cemetery or at Harry's parents' house." A dark look flashed across Snape's features, but it was gone so fast, Hermione wondered if she hadn't imagined it. "How long will it take the Death Eaters to learn they're here?"

Snape pondered that for a while. "With luck, they can completely avoid notice- the Death Eater you saw is watching this house because it has not escaped the Dark Lord's notice that, even following Albus's death, the house remained protected; clearly someone- me- was left in charge of the charm hiding it, and some suspect that it is Potter who is maintaining residence here. Grimmauld Place, however, is the far-more watched area."

Hermione nodded and, though scared for Harry and Ron, began to trust that everything just might work out for them.

Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.

Two days later, Hermione was about to walk into the sitting room, and paused as she heard a voice which she soon recognized as Phineas Nigellus Black.

"I caught a brief moment of their conversation," he said lazily. "They're getting restive and worried about the mudblood--"

"Don't say that word!"

"Very well, the Granger girl then. As it is, I wouldn't be surprised if they move in the next day or two."

Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.

"Quickly, Granger!"

"I'm ready!"

She came sliding around the corner and nearly ran into Snape who was holding Gryffindor's sword carefully in his hands. He looked at her skeptically as she took it and awkwardly tried to figure out what to do with the bulky object which could not be shrunk due to its nature and goblin-crafting.

"Bit late for fencing lessons, I suppose," she grinned wryly, and Snape quirked an eyebrow- the only expression of amusement she figured she'd ever get from him.

"Listen carefully," he said lowly and quietly. "You are now a secret keeper of this house, but I strongly advise against using it except in a dire emergency. I will not be returning to it unless another compromising situation materializes, it is too risky for me to be in an unknown location to the Dark Lord and his followers. If you need to contact me, you can do so through Phineas's portrait, he knows to be discreet at Hogwarts."

"Snape, they are leaving the cemetery!" Phineas called from his portrait in the next room; Snape had managed a complicated set of wards which were tripped when Potter and Weasley were in proximity of the cemetery or the Potter house.

He began speaking even lower and even faster. "Understand this," he implored. "Potter cannot know of my involvement until the very end. His link to the Dark Lord's mind could utterly destroy all of our hope if the Dark Lord were to know of my acting on your behalf. Your travels will ultimately bring you to Hogwarts, however, and immediately before you arrive, it is then that you must explain what has happened, the events that were put into motion a year and a half ago with the Unbreakable Vow and the cursed ring. I will need to speak to Potter, 'ere the end. There is more to the Dark Lord's mortality than he comprehends."

There was little more Hermione could do than nod wide-eyed.

"Come," he stood behind her and gripped one of her upper arms. Bracing herself for the apparition, Hermione was startled by Dumbledore's portrait.

"Best of luck, child," he murmured softly. "I will see you at Hogwarts in due course."

"Thank you, sir," she replied, eyes shining with unshed tears. And then they were gone.

The wind whipped around, stinging Hermione's face. Snape maintained a loose grip on her shoulder as they took stock of their surroundings. They were in a secluded alcove of trees, facing the side of the house in question, and Hermione sucked in a breath at the destruction, wondering why no one had touched it in all these years.

Her heart caught in her throat when she saw the two figures approach, leaving footprints in the powdery snow.

A small bag was thrust into her free hand. She looked questioningly at Snape.

"Things you might need on the run," he said gruffly. "Shrunk, of course."

"Thank you," she said softly, turning to see Harry staring stoically at the house where he was orphaned. "I should go, before they apparate," she turned, but Snape grabbed her arm once more.

"Wait," he hissed, indicating another approaching figure.

Squinting, Hermione could barely tell that it was a small person…or maybe old and hunched? Harry and Ron had caught sight of the newcomer too, and had drawn wands.

"Bathilda Bagshot," Snape breathed. Hermione turned, startled.

"What should I do?"

But Harry and Ron had already started to follow the figure, and Snape and Hermione crept out and trailed from a distance.

"She lives in that house," Snape pointed. "I suspect a trick. Go."

Startled, Hermione hesitated. "I cannot follow!" Snape barked. "If it _is_ a trick, my position is compromised and if not, Potter and Weasley will kill me before you can say a word. It is now up to you, Miss Granger. Don't fail them."

Drawing herself up resolutely, Hermione walked away from Snape, turning once to say, "Thank you, sir. And Happy Christmas."

Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.

When the blade wrought from basilisk venom sliced through the serpent's body, it was a sight horrible to behold. Harry fell and screamed from the pain in his scar, as Voldemort became aware of the loss of his horcrux; Ron stared open-mouthed at Hermione, still wielding the bloodied blade.

"Help me!" she shrieked. Together, they hoisted Harry from the floor, and Hermione turned to apparate, pulling both with her, with Voldemort's only seconds away…

Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene. Scene.

A wand was at her throat.

"What was Hermione Granger's boggart in third year during the end of term examinations?"

She smiled. "Professor McGonagall telling me that I'd failed all of my classes."

It was a joyous reunion, but laced with a certain amount of confusion, anger, and mistrust. Not that Harry and Ron believed Hermione was in any way against them; but they could not understand why she could tell them little more than, "an Order member helped me."

For much of that day, Hermione reflected on the things she had learned, and how different the outlook of the war was, knowing that Snape was working with them. And of course, Nagini was now dead and the locket destroyed- four horcruxes down, total.

And who knew? Maybe her chance encounter with Snape would ultimately change the story of the war, though she supposed she would never know.

Right now, they needed to focus on the remaining pieces of Voldemort's soul.

**A/N: Okay, sorry, took a few days longer than I'd hoped… **

**So yes, I'm sneaky. Basically rewrote the entire ending of the book without actually writing it. But that's okay. No one really wants Snape's ending as is, right? **

**O:-) **

**Thanks for reading and humoring my random little fic-let imaginings! **

**Until next time,**

***~Lexi~***


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